


I Get the Feeling We Can't Run Home

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Knitting, Memories, Road Trips, spinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While traveling with Cora, Derek finds something that reminds them both of home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Get the Feeling We Can't Run Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt Home at fullmoon_ficlet. The other day i was talking about how I wanted to do a story where Derek learned to knit and spin from his mother, so here it is. Also, the title comes from the song “Spin” by We the Kings, which I love because I just keep thinking of the line _spin the world_ while writing something like this. As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

Derek finds the spinning wheel in an antique store, buried near the back behind a long bureau that he thinks might would be nice if he still had a bedroom to put it in. He forgets about the bureau almost immediately, focussing in on the wheel instead. It has been so long since he last saw one, but he remembers his mother sitting quietly in the evenings at home, the wheel whirring.

He buys it immediately and is actually thankful for the damned Toyota that he had to get in order to drag the pack around because the wheel fits easily into the trunk. 

He remembers seeing a yarn shop on his way through downtown when they first came to town, so he threads his way through rush hour traffic to get there, spending the minimum amount of time in the cramped space while he picks out some simply dyed blue roving.

The clerk tries to engage him in a conversation about his project, seemingly fascinated by him until he growls at her instead of bothering with words.  She leaves him alone after that, aside from a murmured approval at his choice of wool. He nods once because he can't disagree; Derek knows his fibers.

Irony, he knows, that a wolf would be so familiar with a sheep's coat.

The motel room is empty when he gets there, which is perfect as far as Derek is concerned.  He sets up the spinning wheel and places the small stool by it, trying to find a way to sit comfortably.  It's a little more cramped than he remembers, but the last time he was barely thirteen and hadn't hit his full growth yet. It takes him some time before he's able to arrange his limbs properly so he can reach the pedals with his feet and comfortably spin.

He tugs free a small amount of roving and tests it, winding the first bit of yarn around the bobbin. He hasn't forgotten the motion or the cadence, finding it after two false starts. When the thread spins from his fingertips, he lets it out slowly and works up to a faster speed until it flows easily.

He loses himself in the feel of it, the rough yarn sliding between his large fingers and the movement of his feet on the pedals. Derek remembers his mother’s scent while he works, the faint mix of leaves and roses, underlined by a hint of whatever dinner was going to be that day.  For all that Talia was a strong woman, she was also a homemaker and a caretaker.  She made certain that every single one of her five children knew how to cook and how to keep a house. Cora and Derek were the only two she ever taught to spin and knit; he wonders if his baby sister even remembers, it was so long ago.

_Not so tight, Derek_ , Talia would murmur while he worked, reaching around him to show him how to tug a bit to smooth out the yarn as it spun.  _It's growing thin, add bit more roving.  Careful, you don't want a lump there, unless you're making a bulky yarn._

He inhales and tastes her scent in the wool that he spins, and he has to slow and stop for a moment. He lost this when their home burned. When his _family_ burned. He lost everything and he let _this_ go, because spinning meant he might remember.

Now Derek finally _wants_ to remember.

When Cora walks through the door, Derek is deftly twisting a new bit of roving into place, the bobbin nearly full with his first hank of wool. She makes a small noise, little more than a squeak, and Derek turns. His feet slow on the pedals, and he holds the spun wool taut. He lifts the end slightly.

“Do you want to take a turn?” he asks quietly, waiting for that quick nod. As they trade places, Derek remembers how tiny Cora was the first time she took her turn at the wheel, so small she couldn’t reach the pedals and Derek had lain on the floor to work them for her while she spun. Now she folds herself into place and for a moment he thinks he sees his mother there. He touches her hair when she starts, and she offers him a quick, startled smile.

Her head ducks and she spins with careful concentration while Derek continues to card his fingers through her hair, light grooming to stay in contact while she submerges herself in years-old memories. When she finally lets the wheel slow, her eyes are bright with tears.

“I miss Mom,” she says, voice cracking. That careful veneer of strength that she always carries slips away as she leans into him, and Derek wraps his arms around her. “I miss Mom, I miss Laura, I miss Dad, I miss _home_. I miss everything, Derek, and I’ve been missing it so long, and we can’t go back. We can’t ever go back.”

Derek presses his lips to the top of her head, whispering, “I’m sorry.” Because he _is_ , more than he can ever really manage to say. “Home is here now,” he says softly. “Home is family. Home is _us_.”

She touches the spinning wheel, and Derek knows what she’s thinking. It’s a part of what home once was, and it lets them carry something with them. “We’ll get more roving tomorrow, before we move on,” he says, and she nods. When he hands her another small handful of the blue wool, she starts to quietly spin.

It’s the little things that make any place a home.


End file.
